


Oranged Color Sky

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: fallout au [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fallout, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker is a kind of good Wash hasn’t seen in his life. A kind of good that can dance.<br/>or hope and where to find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oranged Color Sky

For a man out of time, Lavernius Tucker was taking his new world rather well.

Wash was honestly impressed, though he would never dare to admit it out loud. Back when Wash first escaped from the Institute to live on his own, synth implants still fresh in his head, the culture shock of the Wasteland had been intense, and he’d known what he was running into. He could barely imagine what it was like for Tucker, who woke up to find his son missing and bugs half his size.

He wasn’t sure what impressed him more, that Tucker managed to survive so long without him, or that he managed to survive so long while still staying _good_. Good was rare in the Commonwealth, the old kind of good, not the new standard was more than not stealing another man’s stuff while he was sleeping. Wash had been shocked when Tucker had offered to help a detective he never met, thought him foolish when he volunteered to keep Blood Gulch Raider free, and downright perplexed when he gave a super-mutant the keys to one of his hideouts as long as he “didn’t eat all his food.” Compared to Wash, who robbed a fucking bar on his first week out, Lavernius Tucker was a saint.

Maybe that was why Wash liked him, the former Institute agent thought, watching as Tucker cleaned one of his guns. It was nice to remember good still existed.

The place they’d settled for the night wasn’t bad, as far as camps went. As the weeks went by, Tucker was getting better at choosing places that could actually be fortified, and for once, Wash didn’t see any place better when Tucker pointed out a ruined apartment building to stay in. They were on their way to Chorus at the moment, Tucker had to see Detective Carolina about a lead to Junior, and when they made camp, it wasn’t meant to last for more than a night. The building was empty which was a rarity, and by the time Wash fortified the place, Tucker had already looted all the rooms for everything they had. Which honestly wasn’t much except for an old radio and a knife.

“And then Caboose fucking shoots Church in the chest. When we brought him back to Carolina for repairs, I was sure she was going to kill us,” Tucker said, finishing up cleaning out his rifle. He placed the gun aside and began to wipe his hands off on his jeans.

“I don’t understand why you give either of them guns in the first place,” Wash said. He was sharpening one of his knives, lulled by the radio in the background. Being able to listen to the stations above ground whenever he wanted had been one of the biggest thrills he’d experienced when he fled the Institute. There was a slow song on at the moment, something Wash almost knew by heart now, with how often the station played it.

“Three words man.” Tucker held up three fingers. “Giant charging Deathclaw.” He smirked and shrugged, throwing the rag he’d been cleaning with in the corner of the room. “I thought they wouldn’t be able to miss.”

“Something tells me you thought wrong.”

Tucker chuckled. It was a good sound, his laugh. Less bitter than the ones Wash usually experienced day in and day out. “Church has the missing wires to prove it.”

“You’re lucky Carolina didn’t actually kill you.”

They were quiet for a few more moments, just going through the routine. Sometimes when they traveled together they talked, mostly Tucker talking about his life back before the bombs fell, the son he was so excited to see again. Nice stuff, usually, when he wasn’t in a foul mood. Wash talked on occasion as well, but it was always much more sparse.

His stories weren’t the kind you wanted to hear before you fell asleep.

The song on the radio faded, replaced by the nervous voice of Palomo, the radio station owner and sole employee. He muttered something about settlements before turning to the next song, an upbeat tune Wash recognized well.  

Tucker seemed to recognize it too because he  jumped out of the chair he was sitting in.

“Holy shit! _Holy shit_!” He walked over to the radio and turned up the volume so the sound was now longer quiet enough to be considered background music. “Dude, this is Nat King Cole!”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

Tucker looked at him for a second. “Actually, probably not. But I do and that’s what matters. This is my fucking favorite song man. I didn’t know they still played it.”

Part of Wash, the part that was cynical and a bit of a dick, wanted to remind him that they only played things from his era, since they lost pretty much everything else. But the smile on Tucker’s face kept his mouth closed.

He’d do a lot to preserve that grin.

“I used to dance to this all the time. Like all the time.” He got up, letting go of the radio and spun around. When he faced Wash, he pointed his fingers at him like they were guns. “Man, I still remember it.

Wash tried to hide his own smile, to little success. “I can see that.”

“Don’t be a dick man. I’m having a moment.” He danced to the beat for a little more before stopping, his gaze falling on Wash. He looked the former solider over for a long moment before he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Wash almost dropped his knife. “What?”

“I-uh,” Tucker reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Dancing. I thought you might want to. I mean, you know what dancing is, right?”

“I know what dancing is,” Wash said with a little more venom than he intended. When Tucker seemed to falter, he took a deep breath, the irradiation fading at once. His gaze fell to the floor. “I just, well, I’ve never-”

 _Oh God_. He sounded like a teenager. An awkward teenager. With those metal things on his teeth they used to have-

“Then it’s a good time to start.” Wash looked up at Tucker, who was holding out his hand again. “Look dude, world already ended, now is the fucking time.”

Wash stared at the hand like it was a loaded gun. “No jokes?”

“It’ll be an effort, but I’ll restrain myself.”

Wash looked back at the floor. Then back at Tucker’s hand. He was a soldier. A former Institute croney.  The very type of guy who could have made Tucker’s life hell if things had gone differently. And here he was offering a ribbing free dance lesson.

Wash was wrong. Tucker wasn’t just good. He was was too good for him. If Wash was smart, he’d turn him down. Let the warm feeling in his chest die.

Wash took Tucker’s hand and decided to be selfish.

 _Orange Colored Sky_ played on as they began to dance.


End file.
